Lowcut
by TheOneYouCallWe
Summary: Dean has an obsession with Castiel’s hipbones. DeanxCastiel, hipbone!lust, mythical creatures, and slash. One-shot. Rated for implications.


Low-Cut

Summary: Dean has an obsession with Castiel's hipbones. DeanxCastiel, hipbone!lust, mythical creatures, and slash.

Ramblings: I randomly came by an animated icon of Rusalki_99's of Misha's hipbones and I just kind of…drooled. His hips—oh my god, his _hips._

Ramblings2: THIS IS ALMOST 10 FUCKING PAGES, OH MY GOD WTH. IT TOOK LIKE, FOREVER. WTSHIT. 4500 WORDS. WTCRAP.

Ramblings3: I MISSPELT "SIBLINGS." UNACCEPTABLE.

* * *

Castiel was sexy, there was no doubt about that. His messy clothes, ever-present stubble/five o'clock shadow, tangled dark hair, and solemn eyes would possibly turn people away, but he just…drew people to him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was an angel, or that he was selfless—hell, maybe it was those divinely pink lips. But whatever it was, Castiel _always_ had girls drooling over him.

Not that Castiel noticed. Or seemed to care, even. Dean was always trying to get the angel to be more social, learn more about these 'mud-monkeys' (the dead Uriel's words, not his), what made them tick, why they were worth saving. Castiel however, was far too introverted to try and go out and _meet_ people; too shy to leave Dean's side, him always following like a gorgeous puppy dog.

Even Dean could appreciate Castiel's amazing looks. He was firmly straight, but could admire other men, see what was handsome about them, and like it. It didn't make him bi-curious or anything, just able to appreciate the male body.

However, the moment he laid eyes on Castiel's hips—they were just _hips_ for fuck's sake!—he just about had a nosebleed right then and there; he was forced to rapidly excuse himself to the restroom, eyes wide and alarmed. Thankfully, he had recently been teaching Castiel about personal space, so the angel opted not to follow him in—sturdy door or not.

They weren't special, really—just hipbones. But there was something about them, something about the sharp curve into his stomach, about they jutted out at the sides, and holy shit, he had a hard-on because of _hip-bones._ Dizzily, he swallowed around the suddenly dry tongue in his mouth, breathing deeply through his nose. Okay, so he was quite obviously attracted to Castiel. That much he knew. But were those amazing hips Castiel's, or Jimmy's?

Shit, who cares?

"Dean?" He jumped at Castiel's deep voice from outside the door, "are you quite alright?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, Cas."

"You do not sound well; your breathing is uneven and voice is higher. Are you certain you are not ill?" Goddamn, Castiel was perceptive. "I swear I'm good; maybe I'm just coming down with a bug or something. Nothing to worry about." He could imagine Castiel's look of concentration, waiting outside the bathroom door; how he would be holding the button-down shirt lent by Dean on his arm, low-cut large jeans showing off his hips—

And the nosebleed was back. Fuck. There was silence for a moment longer, then Castiel whispered, "very well," and silently left. Dean gasped as quietly as possible, breathing deeply for a moment. Finally, when he was certain Castiel was fully dressed and he didn't look so ragingly turned on (hopefully that would go away after a while), he opened the door and stepped back into the motel room.

**_ooooooo_**

Turns out a water faerie—aka kelpie—was on the loose in the forgotten shores of Las Angeles (Dean made it a point to tease Castiel about the name, until his jacket spontaneously caught fire. He shut up after that), and so far had devoured at least 15 people. Kelpies were tough sons of bitches, but the brothers (and Castiel) gratefully had enough iron to take down an entire army of water horses. The horse-like creature screamed at them, charging; Dean cursed and rolled to the side, Sam jumping to the side, just in the nick of time.

"Castiel, I could use some help!" Dean shouted, grunting from the back pain of tossing himself on cold, wet, hard rock and stone. Feet from him, Sam nodded desperately, evading yet another charge. Castiel nodded, picking up a metal pipe—yes, a bleeding _metal pipe—_waiting for the faerie to charge at him. As it came racing at him, he swung the pipe like a bat, reveling in the solid _crunch_ of iron hitting flesh, and the kelpie's scream as it fell to the ground. Its knobby knees gave out, and turned to human flesh, and the kelpie finally keeled over, sizzling.

Castiel, gasping, fell to his knees as well, using the metal pipe to support one of his arms and not collapse entirely. Breathing just a bit harder, Dean rushed to him, quietly checking for bruises. A few on his arms, some cuts on his knees and stomach, and a massive bruise on his side from where the kelpie had knocked him over earlier.

"Cas, you're hurt."

"I realize." He grunted. Dean turned worried eyes onto him, but Castiel refused to look into them. "We need to get you some bandages. You know, since you can't…you know."

Castiel grunted again. Dean gripped the angel under his armpits, using his superior weight to drag him up. Instead of letting go, however, he lightly manoeuvred his hands down to grip lightly at Castiel's hips, stroking them softly. Castiel turned his head just barely, staring at him.

"Dean?"

Dean jumped back as if he'd been stuck with a hot iron.

"Um, let's get you back and bandaged, Cas. You probably need it."

**_ooooooo_**

Sam was off with Bobby, leaving Dean to tend to Castiel.

Shit. Castiel was oblivious as ever, legs flat on the rickety bed, watching him closely. His pants were soaking and riding lower than ever, exposing his absolutely delectable hips. Thankfully, however, Dean was more focused on the nasty bruise on Castiel's side from smashing sideways onto a large rock than his really really _really_ gorgeous hips.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"You may stop wrapping the bandage now." There was a trace of amusement in his voice, and Dean felt his cheeks burn hotly. "Er. Right, sorry. Just really distracted." He didn't look up, afraid to show the angel his wildly blushing face—but had no choice when he put a finger under Dean's chin and forced him to make eye contact. "Why have you been avoiding me, Dean?" he held up his other hand, stopping Dean's protest before it started, "you have not looked at me lately, let alone come within feet, unless it were absolutely necessary. Why?"

Dean swallowed around a lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away. _'Because if I stay close, I'm going to jump you and leave hickeys all over your hips and do obscene, dirty things to them. Because I'm wildly attracted to you and it's freaking me out and all I really want to do now is just kiss you and never stop.'_

Instead, he kept his mouth firmly closed, and said nothing. Castiel sighed and brought their foreheads together; Dean jolted slightly. "I dislike it greatly when you keep secrets from me Dean. I feel as if the bond between us grows weaker with every secret you keep." He closed his eyes, keeping their foreheads together a moment longer, then letting him go, with Dean woozy and light-headed. "In time, you will tell. In time."

_'Somehow, I really doubt it.'_

_**ooooooo**_

_ "Dean,"_ Castiel gasped out, shuttering beneath the human. He whimpered, back arching as yet another kiss was pressed to his hips. His nails tightened in the duvet, unable to look the human in the eye. A gentle kiss was applied lower, growing steadily closer to the prize. Blushing, he tangled his spidery fingers in Dean's hair, gripping hard. "Please, Dean…" His words had begun slurring, too absorbed in the human pleasure assaulting his senses.

Dean smirked from his position on Castiel's thigh, still biting and nibbling a hickey into the soft flesh. "Please what, Castiel?"

Castiel groaned.

"I won't know if you don't tell me." Castiel rolled his eyes, huffing before dragging the human up to face him. He brought the hunter's ear close to his mouth, whispering out forbidden dirty words shyly. Grinning brightly, Dean attacked Castiel's mouth again, gasping words into it.

"You should've just said so."

Castiel smacked his arm lightly, glaring. Dean chuckled, lightly kissing the angel's neck, before moving down to his destination. Eyes gleaming with hunger, he lowered his head, breathing harshly…

To be awoken by the sound of bodily blows and Latin incantations.

Shit.

**_ooooooo_**

Demon fight, as usual. One of the dead bitch's (aka Ruby's) little demons had gone rogue, deciding to try and smite the less-holy-but-still-holy angel Castiel. Naturally, the demon got his ass kicked and destroyed, but not without a few strikes to Castiel's still healing bruises. Grunting darkly, he sliced the demonic knife into the victims' throat, taking mild pride in watching the black smoke flee the body, and watching the poor human crumple to the ground, already dead.

How Dean had managed to sleep through most of this was beyond any of them. Still bleary-eyed (and with less of an erection, thank God) he was cleaning up the wreck of what was once a motel room, grumbling about repair damages and a major hurt to Mark Harrison's credit card.

Oh well. At least he didn't really exist.

Behind him, Castiel prodded at his bruise, wincing barely. Sam slapped his hands away, dabbing at the bandages, preparing to replace them…until he saw how some of the old ones had begun to bleed through.

"Um, Dean?"

Dean made a grumbley sort of noise.

"Dean, you need to see this." Groaning, Dean turned on his heel, glaring at his younger brother, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, which quickly stopped when he saw the huge gash running along the bruise (which had also turned a sickly sort of purple color; there was probably a mild case of internal bleeding). Choking on air, he immediately dropped to his knees, shooing Sam away. Tenderly, he stroked along the wound, paying attention to each flinch.

"Sammy, get the thread and needle." His voice was still gravelly, but all other traces of lack of sleep had disappeared. Sam nodded, hunting for the medical kit they kept stashed. Worry was creeping over his green eyes; he wished to try and kiss it better, despite how completely irrational it sounded. Not even paying attention to Sam's voice, he grabbed the kit in one hand, still hovering over the wound with the other.

Biting his lip, he looked up at the angel. "Cas, I have to fix this up."

Castiel blinked. "I understand."

"But you haven't ever had stitches before, so to let you know, it's going to hurt…a lot."

Castiel smiled and gripped Dean's hand, squeezing tightly. "I have you to hold onto through the worst of it, Dean."

The hunter held back a burning flush of his cheeks, and again the desire to kiss him senseless.

**_ooooooo_**

Castiel held up surprisingly better than most hunters did—and ever the humble one, Dean refused to attribute it to how tightly Castiel gripped his hand. The angel had winced several times, once muffling an agonized howl behind his other hand, but mostly just ground his teeth together, and cutting off blood flow to Dean's hand.

Dean could remember the first time he had to get stitches—he screamed like a little girl. Granted, he was only 7 at the time, but still. Can't say anything for trying. Castiel was no stranger to getting tossed around (and tossing around) but black and blue backs and broken wings were nothing compared to dislocated legs and stitches up and down your arm. Those were smaller-focus things, more sharply painful than just a pulsing in the background.

His cheeks were only mildly flushed as he looked up into Dean's green eyes and squeezed his hand again. He whispered "thank you," then let go.

Dean missed the warmth already.

**_ooooooo_**

Castiel's lower bruises weren't healing right. Instead of getting darker then over time, lighter, they only stayed a rather ugly shade of purple and black. Maybe they were just more severe and would take longer (which was dangerous as he could potentially drag them down, despite how Dean hated to think it) or there was the possibility he had a fractured rib that had punctured something.

Dean prayed it was the first. After all, Castiel didn't look sickly or nauseous; he wasn't hard of breathing or passing out. Just…very weak.

And in pain. Lots of pain.

Drawing in a shuttering breath, Dean lay the angel down on the heating pad he had recently acquired (he had snuck into a neighboring room and stolen it) positioning it so the bruise rested directly on it. It probably wouldn't do much, but Dean hated just waiting around for Castiel's more-human-then-ever body to heal itself.

Castiel cracked open an eye, amusement shining in it. "It is nothing that cannot be fixed, Dean."

"I know, Cas. I just worry, that's all." He avoided looking the angel in the eyes, even as once again, Castiel took him by the chin, forcing their face close together. "Dean, please stop worrying so much. You'll make yourself sick with anxiety." He chuckled lightly, stroking over the freckled cheeks.

Dean shook lightly. Castiel's fingertips, even after all this time, were still so soft and feathery. He leaned into them barely, before drawing back, breathing deeply. Castiel glanced at him sadly, drawing his palm back to his side, avoiding looking into his green eyes.

**_ooooooo_**

Castiel was not breathing deeply, but it was apparent he was asleep. Watching Castiel sleeping was kind of like watching a dead person—no breathing, still as stone. Oftentimes Dean would be terrified that he truly _was_ dead, occasionally shaking him awake, scared out of his mind. Only Castiel's slight smile could calm him in those moments.

Castiel's jeans were riding low again, a result of turning in his sleep so much, and so many new bandages while lying down. He had long abandoned his shirt, content to feel the sheet against his skin, which also had disappeared. Now his surprisingly tanned skin was visible to all ('all' being Dean) lower and lower until there was the faintest trace of pitch-dark curly hair from under the flannel jeans, just begging to be twisted around chaffed, calloused hands.

His hips were more pronounced than ever, sharp and definable against the light from the moon, not moving up and down, but steady. Dean was tempted to drag the jeans down and down until he could get the full front view and bite and lick and suck until they were marked and his forever.

God, he was turning into a hipbone fetishist, wasn't he?

"You must sleep, Dean," Castiel's sleepy voice was quiet; Dean froze, terrified that somehow, his hunger and thoughts could be read. "You are only human, after all—and it is quite the pleasant pastime." A small whoosh of air escaped Dean's lungs as he sighed in relief—well obviously Castiel couldn't read his mind, he'd never been able to, even when he _did_ have all his angel mojo. Nodding in exhaustion, he shuffled off to the third queen, curling up under the thin covers, clothes and all.

He did not notice Castiel's wry grin, or how he purposefully shimmied his jeans down further on his hips.

**_ooooooo_**

It was morning now, and Dean was about as awake as an owl at 7 a.m.: that is to say, not at all. He scratched at his toned (well, less so because of all his junk food) stomach, staring blearily at his reflection. Sammy had disappeared last night for some 'training' or something (he worried about that boy sometimes) and had yet to reappear. God, it felt like he hadn't seen his brother in days…if Castiel weren't with him at every turn, he might've become lonely. And speaking of the angel, why wasn't he already up?

Curious, and with toothbrush still stuck in his mouth, he snuck quietly over to the side of the bed, watching Castiel lay there like the dead. At some point, Dean had finally covered him with the itchy blanket, covering his torso from the world. However, his arms and collarbone were still visible; dazed, Dean stroked over them, much the same way Castiel had done to him the night before.

Holding his breath the best he could, he leaned over, still nervous, and kissed the angel's collarbone lightly.

Again he did not see Castiel's smile.

**_ooooooo_**

Castiel's wounds had finally healed (it only took about 3 weeks—they had all had had worse damage done to each of them). Once he could get up and move around, the angel had promptly disappeared. In turn, there was a small hole forming in Dean's heart, growing each day as Castiel failed to appear in accordance with Dean's prayers.

"He'll be back, Dean. He always is."

"Yeah…"

**_ooooooo_**

"Dean." Castiel's dark voice rung out in the decent motel room, scaring the daylights out of Dean; he jumped a foot in the air, flailing mildly. Gasping, he clutched tightly at his chest. "Don't _do_ that, Cas!" Castiel only stared and answered "my apologies," monotonously.

Dean glared at him, smacking his arm lightly. "Where the hell have you _been,_ Cas? I've been worried!" He scowled, lips jutting out into a pout. Flushing lightly, Castiel avoided his eyes; "Again, my apologies. I had a lead on God; however, it turned out to be false." Dean spared only a second's thought at why his angel was avoiding looking into his eyes, but it quickly slipped his mind.

He sighed. "Well, call me first, okay?"

"I shall."

It was only then that Dean noticed something odd—Castiel's ugly trench coat was missing. "Hey Cas, what happened to your coat?" Castiel pulled his arm up, as if just now noticing the coat's absence. "I…do not know." Concentrating, he stared at the empty space, and shrugged mildly. "I suppose it shall reappear sometime."

Dean stared. "Right…so do you have any new leads now?"

Castiel twitched. Definite no. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, grabbing Castiel's hand in his without a second thought. Thankfully, Castiel did not bring attention to it, only staring. "Well, we're going to need your help with a new hunt."

"Mm."

Dean scowled. "I'm serious!"

"And I'm waiting for details."

"…did you just use sarcasm?"

Castiel tilted his head. "I believe I did, yes." Dean stared for a few seconds, shrugging it off as another quirk. "Okay, so something weird has been going on lately in a town pretty far from here. Nothing actually _bad,_ like mass genocides, just weird." Castiel continued to stare, his 'I'm waiting~' expression in place. "So there's this tiny little town in Bumfuck, Nowhere" he silenced Castiel's statement before he could start, "and the crime rate is ridiculously high there. I mean, _Chicago_ high.

"And then suddenly a few weeks ago, bam. Nothing. Because all the criminals are either dying or packing up and moving out."

"Perhaps the local police are taking action."

"No, I looked into that—no police for miles." Again he shrugged; Castiel's eyes narrowed, staring at a certain point on the wall, concentrating. "But the _really_ weird thing is, some of the criminals that ran off have been thrown in the loony bin, spouting off weird shit about a unicorn or a horse or something."

"A unicorn?"

"Well, with two horns. And fire. _Lots_ of fire."

Abruptly, Castiel's jaw dropped; promptly releasing the elder brother's hand, he rapidly began packing up the two siblings and his own clothes, rushing about. Worried, Dean approached him from behind, reaching out to calm him. However, he drew back when Castiel turned alarmed and almost…excited eyes on him.

"We leave. Right now."

**_ooooooo_**

Bumfuck, Nowhere—aka Castletown, Idaho (population of 277) was just as Dean had predicted: old, forgotten, cold, and depressing.

Well, it _would_ be depressing if Castiel didn't look so goddamned happy. The angel was positively _beaming._ Even _Jimmy_ couldn't pull off that much happy at once. He was smiling so wide, it looked as if his grin would rip his face in two (it probably would've if not for the angel holding it in place).

Dean was glad for his angel's happiness, really, but it was starting to freak him out. A lot.

"Uh, Cas? What, exactly, are we looking for?" But Castiel shushed him with to fingers to his chaffed, lips, kissing his cheek lightly. Dean gawped as Castiel practically _skipped_ away, not even noticing Sam closing his mouth with a finger on his chin and an audible 'clack.'

"You're staring."

"Shut up."

Warily, he followed after the angel, at a much more reasonable pace—or tried to but Castiel flaunted—flounced, maybe? Something extremely happy and raging queen like that—back to him, and dragged him along quickly, gripping tightly at his hand. Neither noticed Sam's amused grin as he was left behind, still holding the large duffel bag of weapons.

He had a feeling they wouldn't be necessary...

**_ooooooo_**

If Dean thought Castiel was happy before, he was sorely mistaken. His human vessel's (Jimmy's) cheeks had widened _beyond_ human standards, and if he stared hard enough, Dean could swear he could see a sliver of the actual angel. His blue eyes—blue eyes that Dean _knew_ were not Jimmy's; Jimmy's were duller, less clear and shining—were glimmering, almost full to the brim with tears.

But it was understandable. After all, it wasn't every day one was confronted with a Kirin. Admittedly, Dean did not _know_ what the hell a Kirin was (beyond something that was on a type of Jager) but he knew it was incredible, beautiful, and could bring one to one's knees.

It already had.

The moment he saw the gorgeous creature, Castiel had slumped down; the beast approached him, gliding—literally _gliding_ over the lake and surrounding grass, not harming or touching a single blade. Castiel reached out a cautious, shaking hand. It nuzzled into his hand, flames and smoke from its snout licking at the human vessel, but not harming it in the slightest. Castiel was beyond even crying; he was simply in awe. It snorted, nudging closer to the angel, whiskers tickling along his cheeks and messy dark hair.

In the background, he heard Sam give a whispered gasp.

Slowly, Castiel turned to him, unshed tears shining in the corner of his eyes. "Dean?" He whispered, still petting the multi-colored beast.

"Yeah?" He whispered back, afraid to disturb the (likely) Chinese creature.

"A Kirin…" he wheezed and paused, "a Kirin is a Chinese animal. It punishes only wicked-doers. Its arrival also signals the arrival of a s-sage." Silent tears had begun to flood over his cheeks, leaving Dean tempted to kiss each away, despite how every one signaled only a fraction of Castiel's absolute joy. "It is a good omen—possibly the _best—_and brings 'rui.'"

"'Rui?'"

"Serenity. Prosperity." Sam whispered from behind him. Dean's eyes widened, mildly terrified when the Chinese creature turned it's own golden**1.** eyes on him, studying. However, Dean knew (somehow, like a tiny niggling in the back of his mind) no harm would come to him. "S-so that means…"

Castiel nodding, still sniffling. "We're going to win, Dean. We're going to win."

And he devolved into joyous sobs, clinging to the double-horned animals scaled skin; it regarded him silently, smoke still billowing from its nostrils.

And for a few short moments, Dean actually believed in a God.

**_ooooooo_**

Castiel was beautiful when he was crying and angry, but absolutely stunning when he was filled with such joy. He was beaming, bright and confident, so prideful. It made Dean want to kiss him and never let go. What had started off with an obsession with Castiel's likely delectable hips had evolved into something—something amazing and unnameable.

Normally, he'd let it be, terrified of the repercussions, of the possibility of smiting and an immediate return trip to Hell, or even worse—the loss of Castiel, but a certain blue-scaled, cloven-hoofed deer-antlered Chinese mythical beast had restored his confidence in himself—and only with a snort, a nuzzle against his palm, and an eerie glow in its now-brown eyes (when had they changed? No one really knew; they were too wrapped up in their awe).

He could almost swear it had been smiling at him—but that was probably the lights playing tricks on his eyes—nevermind that they were in a dense forest at nighttime.

Flushing nervously, he approached the angel from behind, mimicking Castiel's usual behavior, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding looking at him. He glanced over his shoulder, pleading with the chimera; however, it only snorted again, shaking its head. He turned his eyes to Sam, but his little brother was too terrified of standing next to a beast that could gore him instantly, and not a single soul would know about it.

Poor kid.

Clearing his throat, he turned back around, and opened his mouth—only to find it covered with another one.

Castiel's.

…Castiel was kissing him. Mouth-to-mouth contact. Tongues sliding in and out, stroking and gasping and oh…

Grinning lightly to himself while filled with an intense exhilaration, he stroked lightly over Castiel's stolen hips, mumbling nonsense words back into his mouth. Castiel drew him closer, clutching at his cheeks and refusing to let go. Drawing momentarily, he giggled as Dean tried to follow him. "Wait, wait, Dean. I need to say something."

"Speak later. Kiss now."

Castiel rolled his eyes. He shoved once more at his shoulders, then gripped Dean's cheeks tightly, only smiling when Dean pouted at him. "I'm sorry for teasing."

Dean stared.

"Me keeping my clothing low on my vessel's body…?"

"You've been doing that on _purpose?"_

Castiel stared. "You did not know?" Dean scowled. "Er…my apologies?" Dean scowled deeper; he huffed, rolling his eyes derisively. "It's fine. But…" and again with the damnedable twinkle! "I _will_ show you the dangers of teasing Dean Winchester."

"I look forward to it." They clashed together for one last make-out session, neither noticed the Kirin's _very _obvious grin, or it shaking its head once more.

* * *

**1. I have no idea what color a Kirin's eyes are, so I…kinda guessed. :S**


End file.
